Page 72 of Rough

“Listen.” He tossed it onto his plate and then looked up. “Excluding high school, I’ve never had a girlfriend. And I haven’t been on a date, either. I could sit here and lie to you about how I’ve been waiting for Mrs. Right, or how the love of my life got away from me, and I’ve been sad and lonely ever since, but that’d be a lie. I was talking to Pop the other day, and it just hit me. Kind of like being punched in the face.”

“What were you talking about?”

“The truth?”

“Always,” I said.

He traced his thumbs along the edge of the table for a moment, and then began. “I always considered myself honorable. A man of my word. You know, stuff like that.”

He paused, but I could tell he was far from done.

I gave a little encouragement. “Okay.”

His preoccupation with the table continued. “It’s recently been pointed out to me that I never treated women with respect.”

I swallowed heavily at the thought of what may come next, but I had to ask. “Did you hit them?”

“No. NEVER!” He looked up and locked eyes with me. “I’ve never pushed, shoved, hit or anything. No woman. Ever. I mean nothing.”

It was nice to hear. “Good.”

“Don’t know if what I did was any better, though.” His shoulders slumped and he slid down in the booth a little. I was sure it was unintentional.

He seemed small. Vulnerable.

“What’d you do?”

“Fucked ‘em.”

I waited on him to laugh, but it didn’t happen. I didn’t see the problem. I enjoyed sex. As far as I was concerned, it was an important part to maintaining any relationship. I was lost. “Is that bad?”

He nodded. “Maybe you didn’t hear me before. I fucked ‘em. That’s it. I didn’t date ‘em. I didn’t spend time with any of them. I just fucked ‘em and went on.”

It didn’t seem completely out of character for any man I’d ever known. I decided, solely based on how he was acting, to give him a little credit for what he’d done. Or at least for what he thought he’d done.

“Oh wow,” I said, trying to act surprised.

“So, when I told Pop I wanted to take you on a date, he jumped my ass. Said if I planned on treating you like any of the women in my past, I better not even ask you. And then he said if I did anything to hurt you, he’d kick my ass. It just got me thinking--”

“You told your father we were going out?”

“It was more like asking permission, really,” he said with a laugh. “But, yeah.”

My heart swelled thinking about him asking his father’s permission to take me on a date, and even more about his father’s protective response.

I began to wonder about his reasons for asking me out. I found a stray strand of hair and began to twist it. “So, is this your idea, or your father’s?”

“Mine.”

“Your dad didn’t coerce you or talk you into--”

“My idea totally.”

“And the haircut? The beard?”

“Me.”

“Why? Why me?”